


A Most Unusual Predicament

by pt_tucker



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Aftercare!John, Aftercare!Mycroft, BDSM Scene, CBT, Cock & Ball Torture, Consensual Non-Consent, Dom/sub Play, Enemas, Fake Kidnapping, Handwavy BDSM, M/M, Mycroft pops up at the end, Nipple Clamps, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rape Fantasy, Safeword Use, Subdrop, snuggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-06 22:53:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4239738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pt_tucker/pseuds/pt_tucker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock wakes up naked and chained to the floor. By his balls. Things go downhill from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Most Unusual Predicament

**Author's Note:**

> Please make certain to check the tags before you read! 
> 
> Originally started for a prompt that asked for Sherlock to be chained by his balls, but sort of deviated from there, so I didn't bother posting a link to the meme. 
> 
> Also, not beta'd, so it's probably got mistakes all over it.  
>   
> 

Sherlock awoke to find his mind fuzzy and his body languid, something which would not have concerned him in the least seven years previous, but now sent a chill down his spine. He’d been drugged, and not of his own volition. He tried to remember the series of events that had led up to his current predicament, and could only vaguely recall something about tea.

Sherlock laid still as he attempted to force his sluggish brain to properly process the situation. He was currently on his side, face pressed against carpet. His eyes were bound shut with a long piece soft fabric that was secured tightly at the back of his head. His mouth sported a ball gag, the kind with holes for easier breathing. He could still yell if needed, so he was in an area in which his captor didn’t worry about someone coming to check on the source of unusual noises. His hands and arms were held together with a single, long sleeve that went up all the way up to his biceps. All his clothing had been removed, and there was something heavy and thick clamped around his testicles, pulling them away from his body in a manner that was somewhat uncomfortable but not painful.

He could hear violin music off in the distance.

All-in-all, Sherlock concluded this was perhaps the fourth worst predicament in which he’d ever found himself.

Sherlock continued to feign unconsciousness for another eight minutes and forty-two seconds on the chance he was being watched, before deciding he’d never been one for waiting and attempted to push himself to his feet. If his “waking” movements signaled anything to his captors, they didn’t make it known. It was difficult convincing his body to obey with the remnants of chemicals in his system and his arms secured behind him, but he finally managed to make it to his knees, only to discover he could go no farther. A painful tug on his balls and the soft clinking of a chain notified him of the fact that he was secured to the floor by his scrotum, of all things.

A soft flush of humiliation crept over his cheeks.

It was at that moment that a door opened from what he approximated to be directly in front of him, judging by the influx of cool air into the room and the soft sound of footsteps coming closer from that direction. He forced himself to remain calm as the unknown individual stopped before him. The scent of a particular deodorant told him it was a man.

“Hello there. I see you’ve noticed the chain. Sorry about that. I just couldn’t resist having the notorious Sherlock Holmes literally by the balls.”

The man’s voice was even and calm - like that of someone who knew he had all the time in the world. Sherlock could only assume he was aware of the fact that he’d snatched him when the detective was not soon to be missed. Sherlock’s vacation didn’t end for another two weeks as he’d only just arrived in Sussex yesterday.

“And, of course, I think they deserve to be on display,” the man continued, and Sherlock felt the man’s trousers brush against his inner thighs as he touched Sherlock’s exposed sac with the top of his clothed foot.

“What do you want?” Sherlock asked, which came out as a serious of unintelligible noises around the gag.

“I see you’re as talkative as I’ve heard. Love the sound of your own voice, do you?” the man asked, clearly amused.

Sherlock was therefore quite surprised when the man jerked him forward by his hair until his balls started to scream from the pull of the chain. The man continued to pull until tears were streaming out of Sherlock’s blindfolded eyes and he feared he might lose consciousness. He couldn’t stop himself from crying out.

The assault ended as quickly as it’d started; the man releasing him without warning. Sherlock scooted back quickly to regain his precious chain slack.

“I love the sound of your voice as well. You’re going to make all sorts of lovely noises for me from now on.”

Sherlock shivered.

“Do you understand me?”

Sherlock nodded and received a slap across the cheek for his efforts.

“Say ‘Yes Master’.”

Several unidentified words slipped from Sherlock’s lips that may or may not have been “Yes Master.” It wasn’t as if the other man could tell one way or the other while the gag was in.

“Good boy. Now then, before we begin, do you need anything? Water, perhaps? I won’t have you dying of dehydration before I even get a chance to stick my cock in you.”

Sherlock thought about it carefully, taking his time, before shaking his head.

The man snorted, “Well too bad.”

Sherlock’s chin was grabbed by an unseen hand. The man tilted his head back and started to pour liquid – water, Sherlock identified as it hit his tongue – through the holes in the gag. It came through in a slow but steady stream, forcing Sherlock to swallow or choke. Sherlock estimated that at least half was lost as it missed the holes and dribbled down his lower face and neck. It was soothing in an unexpected way – the runaway water cleaning off the drool that had escaped from the gag and making him feel less like a dog slobbering all over himself.

The man’s hand moved from his chin to his throat once Sherlock had finished. “Good boy,” the man said, gliding fingers over Sherlock’s jugular.

Sherlock heard him move and the man’s fingers dropped away as he positioned himself behind the detective. Sherlock’s heart quickened at the sound of a zipper. This was it – he was about to be raped by an unknown assailant.

The man wasted no time, not even undressing himself as he pushed Sherlock’s face into the carpet. The entrance was brutal, but not as brutal as it might have been if Sherlock hadn’t lubricated and stretched himself earlier in preparation of sex with John. Sex he may never have again if the man made good on his unspoken promise of keeping him.

The penis inside him was both thick and long, definitely above average, but so was John. Unlike John, the man didn’t appear to be in any mood to be gentle. Behind the blindfold, Sherlock clinched his eyes and told himself he’d had worse.

As if hearing his thoughts, the man shifted until he was ramming straight towards his prostate. His rape now held the tinge of pleasure, adding further shame to his ordeal. Sherlock wanted to hide his face as he felt it heat again.

Sherlock was finally the recipient of some luck as the man came quickly. He bit down on the gag as semen filled his arse. A serial rapist - the man was far too comfortable with the situation to be anything otherwise. He had the potential for numerous sexual diseases, all of which he could be shooting directly into Sherlock’s body at this very moment and Sherlock could nothing about it.

Again, as if the man knew exactly what he was thinking, his captor pulled out of him, only to reach slightly to Sherlock’s left. The rustling of a cloth bag could be heard and then the man was pushing an anal plug into his sore hole.

“Don’t want any leaking out,” the man said.

Sherlock hadn’t heard him arrive with a bag and could therefore only conclude he was sitting naked in the middle a room designed specifically for this purpose. For all he knew it was full of torture devices, all them littered about him on the floor as he was unable to move even a step in any direction while his testicles were chained.

“Well then, that was lovely, but I’m afraid I’m beat. It wasn’t easy setting this up, you know. See you tomorrow. Well, unless I wake up in the middle of the night…” the man trailed off as he zipped up his trousers and headed towards the door.

Sherlock barely dared to breathe until he heard the click of the latch. He despaired as there was no following sound of a lock: his captor was certain that his restraints would hold. Sherlock carefully settled back onto his side just as he’d been when he’d first awoken. He was all too aware of the pain in his backside and the miniscule chain waiting to wrench his delicate reproductive organs. He tried to sleep, a task not made easy by his unsatisfied erection.

===========================================

Sherlock was awoken on the second day of his captivity by his rapist pulling the anal plug out of his arse. Startled, he shot forward as best he could with only his knees for support, but was quickly stopped by gloved hands on his hips. His heart pounded as he realized he could have accidentally caused permanent damage to his scrotum.

Sherlock briefly considered that option before pushing it from his mind as ludicrous. Even if he had the desire to purposefully rip off his own testicles in order to free himself he knew it’d do him little good in the long run.

Firm hands pushed Sherlock’s legs wider until there was enough room to slide what felt like a large plastic bowl between them. Humiliation flowed through him until he was certain even his feet had to be bright red, as illogical as he knew that idea to be.

“Down.”

Sherlock hesitated only a second before lowering his head so that his arse stuck up in the air, bare and inviting. He wasn’t stupid; he knew when it was not in his best interest to push his luck. No matter what annoying fat brothers might believe.

“Good boy.”

The man rubbed a latex-covered finger over the rim of his exposed arsehole as if it was some sort of treat. _Good boy._ Sherlock shivered and tried not to compare it to John’s frequent praise.

“Do you want some water?” the man asked even as he pushed something long and thin into his hole.

Sherlock quickly shook his head against the carpet.

“Hmm.”

A soft cry was ripped from his lips as water, unbearably _cold_ water, rushed into him. He whimpered and tried to get away. He couldn’t take it. It was _awful_.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the man asked, voice tinged with amusement.

“John!” Sherlock cried through the gag helplessly, though he knew it’d do him no good.

The water continued to flow into him. He was dizzy from the feel of it, his sense of touch already having started to enhance in compensation for his lack of sight. His cock was so hard Sherlock thought he might burst without direct stimulation.

“I’m going to pull this out and you’re going to make certain not a single drop escapes. Do you understand?”

Sherlock nodded. He groaned as the tube retreated from his passage and then he fidgeted as he was forced to keep the slowly warming water trapped inside. He was allowed to release his torture into the bowl between his legs after a good five minutes. Or was it seven? Less than five? His sense of time was completely skewed.

The process repeated twice more – the man asking if he wanted water each time and each time Sherlock shaking his head only to be ignored. When it was finished, the detective’s internal temperature had been lowered enough to make him shiver.

The bowl was slipped out from between his knees and soft fabric was draped over his shoulders and back. Some sort of sort cotton. Probably. Judging by the skin his back wasn’t the most accurate method.

His attacker wrapped his arms around him, causing the blanket to press up against Sherlock’s front. The man slipped his left hand between the edges of the blanket to grasp Sherlock’s aching cock.

“Look at this. Sherlock Holmes - the unfeeling machine - a complete slut. He’ll take anything up his arse and beg for more, even a cold enema.” Sherlock shook his head quickly.

“Don’t lie to me, slut.” The man gave his bare stomach a quick, hard smack from underneath the blanket. “I know it’s true because if you don’t…” The touch on Sherlock’s cock became a little less gentle. Sherlock nodded to show he understood the warning.

“Good boy. Now then, what should I fuck you with today? Besides my cock, obviously.”

The man continued to slide his hands along Sherlock’s penis. He paused for a moment and Sherlock could hear him rustling in his bag and a bottle cap being popped. The unseen hands returned to him and warm gel spread everywhere he touched.

Sherlock jerked at the forced masturbation that followed. The man went slowly and carefully, teasing his glands and pulling at his foreskin when he wasn’t running his hand up and down the length at an unbearably slow pace. The touch would leave him whenever it seemed Sherlock was close to having had enough. He groaned after the fifth time of not being permitted to ejaculate. The man chuckled.

“Your old life is over, pet. You belong to me now and I’m not in the habit of allowing my playthings to enjoy themselves.” He removed his hands completely from Sherlock, leaving him hard and leaking with no possible relief.

The man took the blanket with him as he stood and Sherlock tensed at the sudden contact of air on his bare skin. The warmth of the room seeped into him soon enough, however, and he wasn’t as chilled as he’d been before the blanket.

Sherlock strained his ears as the man walked around him. He would walk a couple of steps, then the sound of his clothing rustling would alert Sherlock to him bending down, and then the sound of him tossing whatever it was back onto the floor indicated his apparent disapproval. Sherlock jumped as what sounded like a full toolbox thumped on the ground.

“Yes, this ought to do it.”

The man walked back over to him. Sherlock hissed as his head was yanked back by the hair. Taking the hint, Sherlock sat on his heels, the chain running out behind him from between his legs. His balls were starting to become rather uncomfortable.

A whimper escaped his lips as a clamp came down on his left nipple. He tried to jerk away from the intense pain but the little piece of torture was attached to a chain and all he did was cause himself more agony. Breathing hard, he ordered his body to stay still while his captor attached the other one.

“Intense isn’t it? I’m certain I don’t have to explain how continued sensory deprivation works in these sort of situations.”

Sherlock shook his head. The man tugged on the chain running between the clamps in response.

“I told you how to answer me, pet.”

Sherlock mumbled, “No Master,” through his gag.

“Good boy.”

The man came back around behind him.

“This one’s a little big even for your slutty hole so I’m afraid I’m going to have to lube you up a bit first.”

Sherlock bent over before he could be pushed, not wanting to risk landing on his chest. The strain of the situation was starting to show as he rested some of his body weight on his head as he pressed it into the carpet.

“You’re learning already,” the man said, pushing cold, lube-slicked fingers inside of Sherlock. Why did it all have to be so cold?

The man prepared him diligently, adding a fourth finger only after he’d carefully scissored the previous three. After he’d been prepared, Sherlock was then treated with a dildo the width of a man’s fist. The man appeared to care little for Sherlock’s pained whimpers as he pushed and pushed until it was inside him. Sherlock had never been so stretched in his entire life.

Then it started vibrating. Sherlock twisted and turned and jerked, unable to even attempt to control himself. The man’s hands were a steady presence on his hips that Sherlock was pathetically grateful for as it grounded him during the unbearable sensations. His cock felt as if it would burst at any moment and so Sherlock wasn’t all that surprised when it finally did, splattering the carpet underneath him.

The sensation stopped almost at once.

“I told you I didn’t want you coming, didn’t I?” The man’s voice was cold.

Some barely verbal grunts were Sherlock’s attempt at “Yes, Master.”

“You’ve disobeyed me, pet. Now you’ll have to be punished.”

The toy was pulled out of him in a single hard jerk that left Sherlock reeling.

“I thought this might happen so I picked out your punishment earlier. But first I’m horny as hell.”

Sherlock listened as the man unzipped his trousers and pulled himself out. An arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him back, angling him so that he ended up sitting on the erect cock behind him. It was an awkward angle – Sherlock’s balls still trapped to the floor and his bound arms pressed against the stranger’s chest behind his back – but somehow the man made it work as he took hold of Sherlock’s hips and worked him up and down on his cock. Sherlock added a point to his mental data file: the man was quite physically fit.

This time the fuck was more leisurely as the man moved him up and down at a steady pace. Sherlock’s cheeks pinked as he imagined the sight he must present - his softening cock flopping up and down with the man’s movements, his nipple chain sliding across his chest, and his balls just barely staying within the slack granted him. Eventually the man spilled into him and Sherlock had never been so happy in his life. The man’s heavy breathing rustled Sherlock’s hair and ghosted over his neck as he left the detective sitting on his cock while he rested.

“Good boy,” he said, breathing hard. As if Sherlock had done anything. “Time for punishment now.”

Sherlock shook his head, silently asking the man to please forgive him.

The man reached around him and pulled on the chain connecting his nipple clamps until Sherlock started begging him to stop. The man ignored his pleas and instead seemed to adjust the clamps even tighter. Pain intense enough to make him whimper hit Sherlock’s already sensitive nubs.

“You want some water pet?” the man asked finally when he’d stopped his torture.

Sherlock shook his head again.

“I think you do,” the man said, slipping his cock from Sherlock.

He took hold of Sherlock’s chin like before and forcefully poured water into Sherlock’s gag. As he swallowed he became painfully aware of the fact that he was going to have to urinate eventually.

“Good boy. On your back now.”

Sherlock carefully flipped himself onto his back, albeit with far less grace than he’d normally exhibit. Despite having spent his time naked and chained so far, Sherlock found he hadn’t felt as exposed as he did now. He knew without seeing that the man was leering at him; he could sense it deep in his bones.

“Now then. Since you were disobedient here,” the man said, taking hold of his cock and arranging it flat atop his pubic hair so that it pointed upwards, “you get punished here. Seems fair, doesn’t it?”

Sherlock shook his head.

He jerked has his stomach was smacked. “Don’t disagree with me, pet.”

“Yes, Master,” Sherlock answered, though he was tempted to say something else just because he could. Not tempted enough to risk punishment should the man realize that his noises weren’t the correct ones.

“Hold still,” was all the warning Sherlock received before a slap came down hard on his penis. Of course he didn’t, his primal survival instinct told him to get away from the source of the pain as quickly as possible, and his body followed that instinct. “You get another one for disobeying.” The slap came down again, and again Sherlock darted away from the abuse as much as he was able. “This is going to take a while, pet,” the man said, voice clearly amused.

His cock was struck again, this time causing Sherlock to jerk upwards and pull on his testicles. The man grabbed his legs and dragged him closer to the origin of his ball chain before sitting down on Sherlock’s legs so that he couldn’t move again. And then he started the punishment right where it’d left off.

The man stopped finally after an innumerable amount of hits. Ten? Ten thousand? Sherlock had lost track.

“Good boy.”

Tears leaked out of Sherlock’s eyes. He didn’t feel like a good boy. He felt like a toy who’d been given to a spoiled child and misused until he was broken beyond repair.

“Do you want some water, pet?”

Sherlock took several deep breaths and tried to prevent himself from hyperventilating. What would the man do to him if he said no? Fuck him again? Smack his stomach until it was red and raw? Sherlock wasn’t certain he could take any more genital torture.

“You better not be ignoring me, pet,” the man said. Sherlock shivered at the swift retribution promised in his voice if that turned out to be true. “Answer me. Do you want some water?”

What Sherlock _wanted_ was for someone to hold him and run gentle fingers through his hair. He didn’t want to be raped or hurt anymore.

Sherlock nodded.

“All right, Sherlock, relax. It’s me, John. You recognize my voice, don’t you?” the man asked as he lifted Sherlock’s head and untied his gag.

Sherlock nodded. He was certain he would know the sound of John’s voice even if he’d forgotten how to hear.

“Talk to me, Sherlock. Do you understand what’s going on?” John asked. His voice was gentle and caring, not at all like the man’s voice had been.

“We- We were acting out a scene,” Sherlock answered. He was horrified as his silent tears turned to outright sobs as he spoke. He turned his face away, not wanting John to see his shame.

“It’s ok. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. We’ve all been overwhelmed before during these things. Happens to the best of us.”

Sherlock nodded in agreement.

His nipple clamps came off next and Sherlock gasped as pain flooded in at the sudden influx of blood.

“I’m sorry. I know it hurts.”

Yes, obviously. The man had made it clear he wanted to hurt him.

Sherlock tensed as his testicles were lifted, and for one embarrassing moment he wondered if his captor was going to slap them too. Then he remembered his captor was John and John would never betray his trust like that. The doctor unlocked his testicle clamp and freed his aching balls. Sherlock shied away as gentle fingers kneaded them.

“I’ll take care of these better later, all right Sherlock?”

Sherlock tensed. He had the irrational urge to hide them and never let anyone see or touch his cock or balls again.

“I won’t if you don’t want me to. It’s your choice. Talk to me, Sherlock. Tell me about the scene.”

Still crying but no longer sobbing, Sherlock answered, “You asked before we arrived if I wanted to act out the scene we’d arranged.” He took several breaths and tried to control his tears. “I said yes.”

John sat him up and unlaced his arm sleeve. Sherlock moaned as he was given free range once again. His arms _hurt_. He let them lay uselessly at his sides, not wanting to move them. They’d fallen asleep so now the painful tingling added to the pain of new muscle movement after their time in bondage. John rubbed them too.

“Keep going.”

“The violin was to be my reassurance that Mycroft was here should I need him.” Sherlock gulped in some more air. “He’s rubbish at it. Holds himself back too much and doesn’t play with any emotion.”

“I’m going to take the blindfold off now, all right? It might be seem a tad bright in here so you might want to keep your eyes closed when I take it off.”

“I’m not an imbecile, John!” Sherlock snapped. He understood what John wasn’t saying. The doctor feared the sudden light might startle him while he was in such a fragile state of mind.

“Yes, I know. You’re brilliant and I love you.”

“You don’t need to coddle me,” he said in a voice starting back towards normal. He’d finally gotten his crying under control enough that he no longer leaked tears all over everything.

“I know I don’t _need_ to,” John said, unknotting the blindfold and pulling it off. Light hit Sherlock’s closed eyelids, turning everything gold and orange. “But do you want me to Sherlock? Remember, this is a safe time. You can ask for anything you want; I won’t judge you.”

“I want Mycroft.”

“Here or do you think you can make it upstairs?”

“Upstairs.”

“All right, let me turn off the lights.” Sherlock gripped John’s trousers. “Nevermind. I’ll guide you out the door. Here, wrap the blanket around yourself.”

Sherlock felt the blanket being draped back over this body. He burrowed into it, knowing the temperature in room he’d been placed in was several degrees higher than the rest of the house so as to keep him comfortable while nude.

He allowed John to pull him to his feet and lead him out the door. He shivered as the cold air hit him and he wrapped his blanket around himself a little tighter. The change in lighting was enough that he could see it behind his closed eyes and so Sherlock felt it was safe enough to open them. The hallway was dark save a dim light on a small table pressed up against the wall. Sherlock vaguely remembered John telling him he was going to make certain the house was prepared for him at any moment.

Curious, he turned back to the room in which John had just turned off the lights. There were two large windows built around either side of the door, allowing one to sit outside but keep an ever watchful eye on the inside. Through the dark Sherlock thought he could just make out the metal ring sealed to the floor, a small chain attached to it.

Done with that, he turned to look at John. He looked about as exhausted as Sherlock felt, though satisfaction could still be seen in his gaze, overshadowed by genuine concern. Sherlock knew if he said he never wanted to do this again, John would nod and they’d write it on their list of things to not mention to each other, despite John having obviously enjoyed it. He relaxed a little at the thought.

“Shall we?” John asked, pointing towards the stairwell that parted the other side of the hallway not a meter away to their left.

Sherlock nodded started up the steps slowly, his legs shaky and sore from his forced kneeling. John’s hand on his elbow was a comforting reminder that the doctor was there should he need him. John wouldn’t let him fall.

Twelve agonizing steps later and they were on the upper walkway overlooking the downstairs. Not needing John to know where he was going, Sherlock walked forward and opened the first door opposite the guardrail. The room was dark.

Sherlock tensed.

“Mycroft?” he called out, wanting to make his voice strong but failing in that endeavor as soon as he’d opened his mouth. It came out hesitant and just barely above speaking volume.

Sheets and blankets rustled as his brother woke. He’d been a light sleeper ever since he’d taken up his position as British Government and had to get used to being woken up at all hours of the night. Another dim table light clicked on and Sherlock could see Mycroft, horrible bed-hair and all.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft said, and Sherlock could almost see the machine that was his brother’s mind clicking on at that moment. “Would you like to lie with me or do you want me to come to you?” His brother lifted the blankets in an open invitation, clearly hoping for the latter.

Sherlock indulged his laziness, coming forward to slip under the covers. Not wanting the humiliation of asking his big brother to snuggle with him, Sherlock decided to forgo the asking pressed his still nude body of against Mycroft’s side without a word. Mycroft didn’t appear to mind as threaded fingers through Sherlock’s curls. Sherlock pressed his face closer to Mycroft’s skin in response, breathing in the familiar scent.

“And John?” Mycroft asked.

Sherlock lifted his eyes from his brothers side long enough to examine John. He stood by the doorway waiting for permission to enter and gave him a tentative smile.

“Him too,” Sherlock mumbled, pressing his face back into Mycroft’s side. He felt Mycroft move and assumed he’d given some sort of sign to the other man.

Sherlock listened as John slipped under the covers. He was careful to leave a space between them.

“Do you want me to hold you too or do you want some space? Your choice.”

Sherlock reached behind him and pulled John’s arm across his waist. John took that as a good sign and scooted closer until he was flush against him.

“How do you feel, Sherlock? Does anything hurt?” John asked.

“Stomach, testicles, penis, anus, nipples, arms…” Sherlock trailed off, assuming John would understand.

“You want me to look at them now or wait?”

“Wait.”

“All right.”

“Are you confused about anything?” Mycroft asked, ever one to get right down to business.

“How much time has passed?”

“Just a few hours. I didn’t actually leave you over night,” John answered.

Sherlock nodded. The explained partially how he’d become so time-disoriented so quickly.

“I want to rest,” Sherlock said.

“So we’ve finally found something that will put you to sleep, brother mine,” Mycroft said. The teasing in his tone was light and careful, as if he feared Sherlock might break if he took it the wrong way. Sherlock found it annoying and not at all up to Mycroft’s usual standards.

“Don’t patronize me with your ‘kind big brother routine,’ Mycroft. I’m not about to shatter before you.”

His two bedmates were kind enough not to point out how he was holding onto Mycroft for dear life, and John didn’t mention how he’d broken down in a sobbing wreck earlier.

“One more question, Sherlock,” John said, “Do you know why the scene ended when it did?”

“I said stop … more or less.”

“That’s right,” John whispered, leaning in to press soft lips to his shoulder.

The bed was silent as Sherlock relaxed his death grip upon Mycroft enough to get comfortable. His brother continued rubbing at his hair, apparently content to do so until he fell asleep. Which wasn’t going to happen anytime soon with the tension still palpable in the air.

“Something you want to say, brother mine?” Sherlock asked.

“Not ‘say,’ no. I was merely wondering if you enjoyed yourself.”

Sherlock thought about it before answering. It wasn’t an idle question; Mycroft didn’t _ask_ idle questions. Something inside him warmed at the knowledge that his brother would exile even John to Antarctica if he found that he’d mistreated him, nevermind how fond his brother had grown of Sherlock’s blogger.

“I enjoyed most of it. With some adjustments I’m certain it would be perfect.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

John gave him another kiss on his shoulder and then finally the three of them relaxed enough that Sherlock found himself falling asleep not long after.

**Author's Note:**

> So, what'd you think? 
> 
> I gotta be honest with you guys & say this is not one of my best works. I'm not exactly proud of it, but it's good enough to post, I guess. :(


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